Johnny-Boy

by Allan Anthony

I'm not a rodeo enthusiast, but I attended one at the Cow Palace the other evening. It was the first rodeo I'd seen. I went because of Johnny-boy. I had to see to believe. You'll understand why when I tell you his story.

During the days when Johnny-boy was a student at Stanford, he was a shy, sensitive boy who seemed to get all the rough breaks, romance-wise. He was always in love, but never successful in it. I met him in his freshman year, when he was just beginning to realize that the gay world existed. He had left Minneapolis after high school, and come to California because he said it was as far west as he could go without leaving the continent. He received a monthly check from his father, who had a small manufacturing business. He spent most of his freshman year studying and seeing the tourist sights in the Bay Area.

I met him in a British history class, and invited him to a party I gave. He came, and when he realized that all of the people there were gay, he left. He didn't speak to me for the rest of the semester. During that summer I ran into him in a gay bar in the city. He came over and spoke to me.

"Are you going to invite me to your next party?" he asked. "If you do, I'd be happy to come.

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He said that he was sorry that he had left the other one, but just didn't know what to think, as he had never been among such people before, and wasn't sure, at the time, that he was one. Since then he had met another student, realized that he was one of those persons, and fallen in love. The romance had recently ended, and Johnny-boy felt himself jilted. I gave him my shoulder to cry on, and invited him to my next party. We became friends, going to an occasional play or concert together.

Our relationship was that of older and younger brother, and I accepted the troubles he brought. Johnny-boy was tall, thin, and blond. He had a rather large frame, being about six feet tall. But there was a certain poetic delicacy about him that made him seem vulnerable and in need of protection. He was the picture of sophistication. He constantly wore, when he went out, an Ivy League charcoal grey flannel suit, with a Brooks Brothers shirt and a narrow rep tie. This was during the days when Ivy League was just returning, at least to the west coast. His manner was erudite and somewhat ethereal, and sometimes a bit theatrical. But he could be inarticulate at times, especially when meeting strange people.

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